


A Foreign Field

by ayumie



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Difficult Decisions, M/M, Season 5 Episode 11 - Key Move
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7098946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayumie/pseuds/ayumie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Nick had taken Renard into the Schwarzwald instead of Monroe? Could they have found some way to work things out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Foreign Field

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta-reader lea724. You rule! Comments are appreciated and cuddled...

They were in Renard's office, blinds drawn, door firmly closed. Nick's body language was never difficult to read and, as so often in the past months, he was radiating tension, discomfort, if not outright hostility. Renard put down his pen, waiting.

“I just wanted to let you know that I'll be off the grid for a few days,” Nick said, voice tight and tense.

“Anything I need to know?”

“Not at the moment.”

Hiding disappointment, Renard gave a terse nod and looked down, ostensibly studying his papers. He didn't know what he had been expecting. Nick was already at the door, reaching for the handle. Suddenly he straightened, turned back.

“Actually... could you take a few days off as well?”

“That'd be difficult. I'm currently supporting Andrew Dixon's campaign.”

In spite of his careful words, Renard couldn't quite prevent the wild leap of hope, knew that some of it must be showing on his face, in his eyes. Habitually he smoothed his features and gestured for one of the chairs. Nick was studying him, still poised for flight, but after a moment he actually sat down. The two men looked at each other. Renard kept himself very still, waited, tried to not let the silence grate on his nerves. Nick squared his shoulders. 

“I need to go to Germany and I probably shouldn't be doing this alone. Monroe offered to come along, but if anything goes wrong, I don't want to get him into trouble.”

“What kind of trouble are we talking about?”

“That's just it – I really don't know. I assume you've got a fake passport? And some way of getting weapons over there?”

That kind of trouble. Renard nodded slowly. He knew better than to get angry at the fact that Nick obviously thought nothing of getting him into trouble, or so he told himself. A touch of sharpness crept into his voice nonetheless.

“Do you want to tell me what this is about? Or am I expected to risk my life flying blind?”

Nick shifted, eyes narrowing. He still didn't seem entirely certain he wanted to be having this conversation. What on earth was all of this about? What could be so important? Nick's voice was steely. 

“You owe me.”

“I suppose I do.”

Even now. After everything. 

“And I really don't want to kill you.”

Was it possible...? Excitement thrumming through his veins, Renard did his best to radiate calm, sincerity. 

“Duly noted. Nick, I know we've had our difficulties, but I don't want us to be enemies.”

“I have five keys and enough of the map to guess at a location.”

This, Renard imagined, was what being hit by a truck felt like. He was aware that he was staring, open-mouthed, probably looking less than intelligent and, judging by Nick's suddenly amused expression, more than a little humorous. Snapping his mouth shut, he for once said the first thing that came to mind.

“Well, I'm not flying coach.”

That made Nick outright grin. Some of the tension was dissipating and, deliberately relaxing into his chair, Renard echoed that smile. Five keys. For a moment, he allowed himself to glory in the possibilities. The danger was undeniable, but if Nick was right, if they did manage to retrieve whatever those Grimm-knights had hidden...  
Nick was still watching him, looking almost like he was waiting for something, and Renard knew he was going to have to be very careful. There was no 'they', he reminded himself. Anyway, first things first. There were arrangements to be made, plane tickets, a rental car and the fake documents Nick had mentioned. Talking about practicalities had never been a problem and the two men quickly worked out the details. Nick was already turning to leave when Renard called him back. He couldn't not ask.

“Why tell me at all? Since Monroe offered and you obviously don't trust me with the keys?”

Nick's answering smile was mirthless, brittle.

“I do trust you to keep me alive.”

*

On the plane, Nick slept. After they had eaten, he had put his seat into recline, grabbed his pillow and blanket and curled up on his side. Renard watched him from the corner of his eyes. It had only been hours, not nearly long enough to think things through, to make sense of the situation. He had barely remembered to call Rachel and let her know he wouldn't be able to make it to tomorrow's rally. Even though he probably ought to be considering his options or at least try to catch some sleep himself, Renard couldn't tear his gaze from the Grimm. 

Nick seemed utterly exhausted, face drawn with weariness, frowning even in his sleep. Remembering the young detective that had first joined his precinct, Renard felt a brief pang of regret. They had done this to him, dragged him into a world filled with darkness and violence and left him to cope as best he could. A Grimm. Renard had watched Nick month after month, year after year, watched him lose hopes and scruples, turn angry – often at him – and, lately furiously determined. This was what Renard had wanted, it had been necessary, perhaps inevitable, but still... 

Nick shifted in his sleep, sighing, blanket slipping around his shoulder. Instinctively, Renard reached out and tugged it back up, fingers brushing Nick's neck as he did so. Those blue eyes cracked open and, half-expecting a rebuff, he froze. Nick held his gaze for a moment, didn't move from the lingering touch. Renard could feel the thud of his pulse, warm breath fanning against his wrist. He resisted the urge to snatch his hand away and pulled back slowly instead, feigning nonchalance. 

Nick's eyes were still on him and, absurdly, Renard felt like he ought to be saying something. There really wasn't anything he could say without making things worse. Absentmindedly toying with the entertainment system, he took deep, steadying breaths. He was supposed to be over this.

For the remainder of the flight, Renard focused on the maps Nick had given him. He had wondered at that, too, whether it was a sign of trust, hadn't been able to come to any conclusion. Perhaps Nick merely thought that as long as they hadn't actually found anything, there was little chance of betrayal. In the hours before landing, Renard even managed to rest a little. 

*

They got through customs without a glitch and, as they made their way to the rental car counter, Renard tossed a pair of sunglasses at Nick.

“Wear these. You don't want anyone to realize what you are.”

To his credit, Nick didn't protest that he'd look stupid. Only pausing to buy some equipment along the way, they headed out into the countryside. The car moved smoothly down the autobahn, picking up speed as Renard floored the gas pedal. Nick had half-turned to the window, ostensibly watching the landscape rush by.

“Adalind wanted to have sex before I left.”

For the second time in as many days, Renard was struck speechless. 

“I said no. I couldn't.”

Apparently some sort of answer was expected. Racking his brain for an inoffensive reply, Renard futilely wondered not for the first time just what it was about Nick that kept throwing him off his game. He never seemed to find the right thing to say, never managed to bridge the distance between them. 

“Because of everything that happened?”

“Yes. That. Because I can't imagine being in any kind of relationship at this point. She's Kelly's mother - of course I'll keep protecting them. I don't hate her like I used to. I think at some point I forgave her. Everything. But how do you ask somebody to be together, living the way we do? How do you ask them to take that risk?”

This wasn't a conversation he'd ever imagined having, not with anyone - certainly not with Nick. The whole situation was swiftly taking a turn towards the surreal. Renard shook his head.

“I don't- I'm not exactly an authority when it comes to relationships.”

“I used to be. I mean, Juliette and I did all right. We used to be good together and just look at how that one turned out. And Adalind – what if we can't work things out, not even for Kelly? What if her Hexenbiest comes back? What happens then?”

This time, Renard kept his mouth shut. Nick still didn't look at him, but he kept talking, words tumbling out as though he couldn't quite stop himself.

“I love Kelly. So much. I want him to be safe and happy and it's all right while he is a baby and we can pretty much keep him locked up. But when he gets bigger, he'll need to go to school and have friends, do things without his parents constantly hovering over him, and I'm not sure that's possible in Portland – with me.”

Suddenly aware that his hands were clenched around the steering wheel, Renard made himself relax. At least now he knew why Nick had chosen him to talk to. He took his time, chose his words carefully.

“Trust me, I'm aware of the irony that I'm the one to say it, but … did you talk to Adalind about any of this?”

“Not yet. I know I have to.”

For a moment, Nick fell silent. Then: “Do you miss Diana?”

Renard wasn't sure he wanted to answer that question. With anyone else, he wouldn't have. This was Nick, though, and he wanted … something. If this was something they could use to connect, he'd go with it.

“I only had her for a moment, but … yes. I think about her. I worry that she's not well-cared for, that she'll grow up thinking her parents abandoned her.”

It was the closest he could come to voicing the sense of loss he felt at the knowledge that somewhere out there was a little girl, his little girl, and he wasn't a part of her world. Not something he could afford to dwell on, or so he regularly told himself. 

Nick nodded slowly and turned back to the window, scanning the rapidly approaching hills.

“Not long now, right?”

*

In the end, it was surprisingly easy. Other than a nasty drop into the ancient vault and Renard banging his head repeatedly on low doorways, they didn't run into any trouble. The sealed strongbox they had finally unearthed sat in the trunk of the car, a silent presence difficult to ignore. 

They made it back to Stuttgart in the middle of the night and decided to stay at the airport hotel for a few hours. When Nick requested only one room, Renard didn't say anything, face schooled into an expression of bored indifference. On their way up in the elevator, he couldn't help but glance at the bag standing between them.

“I wouldn't have thought you'd want me anywhere near … whatever we found.”

“I want you where I can keep an eye on you.”

The room wasn't anything special, bland comfort, but the shower was clean and deliciously hot and, at the moment, that was all Renard really wanted. His whole body ached from the fall and he could tell from experience that his right side would be bruising spectacularly. Once he was done, he emerged wrapped in a bathrobe to find Nick sitting on the bed, obviously trying to make sense of the room service menu. 

“They'll start serving breakfast in an hour. You want anything special?”

“Just coffee. And whatever they have that isn't vilely sweet.”

There was only one bed, so he sat in an armchair, grateful to be able to stretch out his legs and lean back against the soft upholstery. After a moment, Nick got up.

“I'm taking a shower.”

It sounded almost like a challenge. Renard merely nodded and refrained from commenting on the fact that Nick obviously intended on taking the bag with him into the bathroom. He kept his eyes down until he heard a door shut. 

Now would be the moment to act. It could be done. Make a move while Nick was distracted, take him out and grab the weapon. Treasure. Whatever it was. Sure, it'd mean breaking with Nick, a fight to the death later if not right at this moment, but people had been dying, killing for whatever was in that box for over a thousand years. A single Grimm shouldn't matter, certainly wouldn't matter to Viktor or whoever was in charge of the family right now. Nick mattered to him, though. 

As usual, that realization left a bitter taste in his mouth. Renard knew that he wasn't a part of the group of friends Nick had gathered around him, could only observe the way they supported each other, the affection between them. Not something he could imagine for himself. Friendship was a luxury and Nick … might be something else altogether. Of course he couldn't afford to act rashly either and that bag was going back to Portland with them.  
Aware that he wasn't thinking very clearly at the moment, Renard determinedly closed his eyes. He was roused by a gentle touch on his shoulder. Nick was standing in front of him, hair wet, only a towel wrapped around his hips. There was a strange look on his face, relief certainly, but also something harder to define: Determination, a sense of purpose.

“You ought to lie down. You landed badly when we went through that ceiling, didn't you?”

Not bothering to deny the obvious, Renard suppressed a groan and he forced his tired body to move. It was a relief to lie down, but-

“I feel like an old man.”

The mattress dipped as Nick sat down, his hand close to Renard's, fingers almost touching.

“You're not an old man.”

Nick's eyes held his for a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“Not an old man at all.”

Renard felt his breath catch. He didn't move, didn't say anything. After a moment, Nick dropped his gaze, turning serious.

“I don't want us to be enemies either. I want us to be … better. If I can forgive Adalind, I can forgive you, right? And I want... I want...”

Nick's voice trailed off, but now their hands actually were touching. The past days had been so strange, so much, Renard's mind wasn't working properly, thoughts scattering as he tried to remember the reasons he ought to be pulling away, pretend none of this had ever happened. Nick obviously took his inaction for assent and leaned in, lips warm and firm as they brushed against his. Lust was instant, overwhelming. He'd wanted this for so long, had denied himself, and this couldn't be happening. The kiss was surprisingly soft, almost chaste, all butterfly-touches and the smell of mint. The sudden realization that Nick had brushed his teeth in preparation, must have been planning something like this, was enough to jolt Renard out of his stupor, exhaustion and pain instantly forgotten. Not good. When he reached up to push Nick away, though, his hand encountered bare flesh. 

It wasn't easy to retain some measure of control. Nick licked his lips as he pulled back, blue eyes boring into his and, for the first time, it occurred to Renard that this whole expedition might be some kind of test. His voice was embarrassingly uneven, rough with desire.

“Nick, are you sure that this is a good idea?”

That got him a harsh laugh. 

“A good idea? Not really. But it's what we both want.”

The next kiss was deeper, more passionate and he could taste Nick, lick into that welcoming mouth and take. When they broke apart, both men were panting harshly. They rested against each other for a moment, eyes closed. It wasn't too late to stop. Renard opened his mouth to speak, was stopped by Nick's fingertips against his lips.

“Don't”

Nick drew his fingers down Renard's jaw, to his nape. Again: “Don't” 

Without any sort of conscious decision, Renard was touching, running his hands over every part of that gorgeous body he could reach, shoulders and back and ass. At some point Nick's towel had slipped, exposing a long line of skin from foot to shoulder and how could he resist? How could anyone? The towel went next, tugged out from between their bodies, the friction enough to make both men groan. Nick was grinding against him, laughing again, an altogether different sound from before, breathless and joyous. Renard couldn't help but stare. Had they ever laughed together? Not in his wildest dreams could he have imagined anything like this: Even in his fantasies, sex with Nick had been rough, fucking like fighting. This Nick seemed more interested in getting to the belt of his bathrobe than in any struggle for dominance, playfully biting at his collarbone when Renard was too preoccupied to cooperate as required. 

“So what do I call you in bed anyway? Sean?”

Mouth wandering up his neck.

“Captain?”

Breathing into his ear, lips briefly sucking at the lobe.

“Your highness?”

It was Renard's turn to laugh.

“Whichever you prefer. Sean is shortest, though. Easiest to scream.”

“So I'll be screaming, then?”

With a small sound of frustration, Nick finally sat up and subsequently managed to get the bathrobe out of the way. Drawing in a sharp breath at the first sight of Renard's body, he ran a teasing finger up the hard flesh he had just bared.

“Yeah. Maybe I will...”

This time Renard pulled Nick down, fusing their lips together. He couldn't get enough of that mouth, tongue chasing tongue, teeth nipping. When he pushed himself up onto his elbows however, he gave a small grunt. He was Zauberbiest enough not to mind a bit of pain, but it was annoying not to be able to move as he wanted to. At least the sharp sting served to clear his mind a bit.  
Nick was pulling back, frowning. His hand hovered over Renard's slowly forming bruises, a mix of emotions playing over his face: Worry and anger and guilt and regret. Even a few days ago Renard might have tried to play into that, pointed out that Nick had deliberately chosen to expose him to danger when he hadn't wanted to risk a friend. Now that didn't feel right, though. He wanted Nick to come to him if he needed help, to feel comfortable around him rather than obligated. He wanted Nick to laugh again. Renard smiled and took hold of Nick's hand, bringing it to his mouth to place a kiss into the palm.

“It's fine.”

Nick's hands were strong, callused from regular training with his Grimm weapons. Renard briefly bit the meaty curve right beneath the thumb before running his tongue over the inside of the wrist.

“We're both fine. In a few hours we'll be out of here with no one the wiser. Unless you're planning on stopping now. In that case, I'm not fine at all.”

“We can't have that, can we?”

That wicked grin was back as Nick slid down his body, hands pinning his hips when Renard would have arched his back. Intent eyes were roaming over him, taking in every detail. Again Renard was struck with the realization that none of this was what he would have expected. The expression on Nick's face was all heat, all hunger – not at all a Grimm studying a Wesen. He looked up again, eyes dancing.

“I think you're wrong. I think you're the one who'll be doing the screaming.”

Nick didn't waste any more time. Renard didn't cry out at the sensation of warm lips closing around his cock, but it was a near thing. In fact, it was all he could do not to come right away. With an inarticulate groan, he reached down to bury his fingers in dark, wet hair, somehow managed to resists the urge to press down and cupped the back of Nick's head instead. Surely he had received more expert blowjobs once upon a time, but this was Nick and, God, he seemed to be enjoying himself, deliberately teasing as he worked the head of his cock with his tongue, sinking down, down, down only to pull off and lick along the length of the shaft. Pushing himself up, Renard watched that dark head bob up and down, vaguely thought that he ought to close his eyes, try to shut out the additional stimulation, but this was Nick and he needed to see. He needed everything. 

It wouldn't, couldn't, last long. All too soon Renard was helplessly adrift, body heavy and tense at the same time, building towards something and, with an almost electric jolt, he realized that he didn't have to check his strength. Nick was perfectly capable of holding him down. As though in response to that thought, the grip on his hips strengthened, grounding him. Nick briefly pulled back, panting.

“You can let go, Sean. It's all right. It's me.”

Then that amazing mouth was back and this time there was no pretense, no teasing. Hand clenching into Nick's hair, Renard drove himself into that welcoming warmth. A brief swirl of tongue, the merest hint of teeth and it was all he could do to cry out a few broken syllables by way of warning. Nick didn't pull away even as he came hard, body arching, mind whitening, swamped with pleasure. Orgasm seemed to last for a long time.

“Sean.”

Almost a whine. Afterglow fading fast, Renard shifted, rolling onto his good side and bringing Nick with him. It hurt, but the little gasp he got when their bodies lined up was worth it. Nick moaned as he pressed his face into the bend of his neck, hips jerking forward. Another sweet little noise when he worked his hand between their bodies, grasped the hard, slick flesh he found there.

“Sean...!”

More of a command than anything else and one Renard was happy to obey. Soon he had Nick writhing against him, thrusting into his fist, unabashed and utterly beautiful. It was over far too quickly. A muffled curse and Nick's entire body tensed against his, fingers digging into his shoulder. Wanting to draw out those delicious little shudders, Renard kept circling his thumb until, finally, they rested against each other, thighs and bellies smeared with come. It should have been uncomfortable and in a way it was, but all the same neither man moved away. Lying together, listening to each other's heartbeat, for a little while at least, they were at peace.

They barely managed to clean up and dress in time for their flight. Well, there'd be food on the plane. Renard covertly watched Nick, who was once more clutching the bag with its precious content. The situation didn't feel particularly awkward – not because of the sex, anyway. It stood to reason, Renard thought wryly as they got on the elevator, that given their history a little bedsport hardly mattered. If they did end up killing each other, there were far more likely causes. He almost wished they hadn't found anything.  
Nick was looking straight ahead, shoulders tense and Renard wondered whether he might be thinking along the same lines. He still looked a bit rumpled, though, hair mussed, lips swollen and, when he glanced sideways after all, he smiled, an echo of his earlier, open laugh. Renard felt his stomach twist. He shouldn't say anything. 

“You do realize that if word gets out that you found … whatever you found, all hell will break loose.”

“I assumed as much, considering what people were willing to do to get their hands on one of the keys.”

People being his family. Nick's voice was carefully neutral, however.

“I just … You can't trust anyone.”

“I trust my friends.”

Not a second of hesitation. Renard shook his head, knowing better than to object. He found himself foolishly hoping that Nick was right, that he wouldn't suffer for his loyalty. Perhaps there were people worth trusting. He really couldn't say.

“Just be careful.”

It sounded trite, useless. Nick's mouth quirked.

“Are you telling me not to trust you, Sean?”

And, God, of course he shouldn't. If anything, Nick should have taken up Monroe on his offer, danger or no danger, and never breathed a word about the whole thing to Renard in the first place.

“I'm telling you not to trust anyone. You're powerful, Nick, but you're not immortal. I could have put a bullet into your head up in that hotel room. I could have men waiting for us at the airport even as we are speaking.”

Nick was studying him, but there was no anger in his eyes. In fact, he seemed almost amused.

“I don't think you do. I think we're getting on that plane, go home and then I'll walk away with the box and you won't try to stop me. You wouldn't be talking to me otherwise.”

Blessedly the door of the elevator opened, saving Renard the need to reply. They had no more opportunity to talk in private, but for most of the flight Nick's foot rested against his calf, warm, solid and impossible to deny. 

Hours later, they parted ways at the airport just as Nick had predicted. Renard took a cab, but didn't immediately reach for his cellphone, strangely reluctant to start dealing with whatever inevitable crisis had arisen during his absence. He still wasn't sure what, if anything, Nick had offered with this trip. He had, however, realized with terrible, final clarity that whatever it was, however little, he'd take it.

The End


End file.
